


I'm Sorry, Too

by anttoxicated, dreamofhorses, lookingforatardis, NiciJones, reversedandremanded



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Abuse, Angst, Collaboration, M/M, More angst, Smut, deal with my terrible tags, god i cant believe what im about to tag this as, ok nevermind you're reading this for angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anttoxicated/pseuds/anttoxicated, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversedandremanded/pseuds/reversedandremanded
Summary: Armie visits Timmy's apartment in NYC late one night. (also known as, Armie & the Mysterious Case of the Two Denied Orgasms) (Kidding...not really)This is the result of a collaboration among 5 dedicated (REALLY dedicated) fanfic writers who started off just trying to write an angst fest. Over nearly 24 hours the piece passed back and forth among five sets of hands on three continents, and the result is what you see here. It's a little sexy and a little fluffy with a whole lot of angst in between. **Read notes!**





	I'm Sorry, Too

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to list the tumblrs of the incredible people who participated in this at the end of the fic, so check out the blogs if you haven't already! There are slight breaks in the text where we switched off and passed it along. We seriously hope you enjoy (?) this, it's the first major collab of mine and I think it was for them as well. HAPPY ANGSTING!  
> ***trigger warning for slight abuse!! just so you know! It's not intense but it is there!***

Timmy was absent-mindedly scrolling through Instagram on a rainy night in his tiny Bronx apartment when he heard a series of _plinks_ at the window next to his bed. He did his best to ignore them. New York City was, after all, quite loud, even at night. But when the _plink_ ing didn't stop, he sighed and walked over to the window to investigate. The pane was too covered in raindrops and fog for him to see anything other than diffused street lights in the distance, so he used all his strength to slide open the old window. Outside, he saw a large figure standing in the rain. "Armie?" Timmy asked out loud, knowing it couldn't be him; he had just flown back to LA with his family. A small stone hit Timmy in the face, hard. He flinched and instinctively moved his hand up to his eye where the stone had made contact. Whoever was throwing the rocks hadn't noticed that Timmy had opened the window.

"No, dipshit, it's Luca." called a familiar and distinctly non-Italian voice. And there he was, all 6 foot 5 inches of him standing drenched at the bottom of Timmy's building's fire escape.

 

“Why the fuck are you standing at the fire escape? It’s pouring!” Timmy shouted through the rain.

“I didn’t want to wake anyone?” Armie answered vaguely.

“I’m not living with my fucking parents anymore. Move your ass up here or you’ll catch your death!” He told him. They could have this conversation when Armie was inside. What was he doing here? This was all so weird.

The ladder squeaked when Armie started to climb. Timmy waited impatiently for the older man to appear. “You’re such a dork,” Timmy told him as he leaned out of the window to hug Armie, not caring about the rain. All he cared about was Armie’s scent that lay buried in his neck. He inhaled deeply and held him tighter for a moment, hoping Armie wouldn’t notice.

 

“It hurts,” Timmy said against Armie’s neck.

“I know. I’m sorry, I had to,” he said in a raspy, calm voice.  
“I’m talking about the stone. It stings!” Timmy giggled.  
“Oh shit, sorry,” Armie said, taking Timmy’s face in his wet, cold hands. “Let me see.” Armie examined his eyelid. “Let’s put some ice on it,” he said, moving around the place like it was his own. Timmy smiled knowing Armie was there, with him, alone. “It also hurt, your leaving. I got wasted... I think I filmed a balloon,” Timmy said as he jumped on the kitchen counter.  
“Oh yeah, I saw.” Armie said, putting some frozen peas on Timmy’s eyelid.

 

Timmy flinched at the cold. “Thanks.” He mumbled.

Armie smiled carefully.

“Why’re you here?” Timmy asked again.

Armie shrugged and pushed his hands into the pockets of the track pants he was wearing. “I have a photoshoot thing here tomorrow.”

Timmy narrowed his eyes at him. “You just left for LA.”

“I- well obviously I didn’t.” Armie spread his arms out to both sides. An offering? An apology? An excuse?

“And you didn’t find a hotel room?” Timmy asked doubtfully.

Armie nodded, rolling with the idea instantly. “Right. I thought I could crash here.” He looked around.

“You know how fucking small this place is. You won’t fit on the couch.” A pause.  “Fine. I’ll take the couch then and you get the mattress.” Timmy threw the bag of peas into the sink. He was upset. Armie was constantly sending mixed signals and he was so done with trying to figure out what was going. “There are towels in the bathroom. Help yourself,” He said and jumped from the counter to head into the living room.

 

Armie followed, a little lost suddenly at the distance Timmy appeared to be creating between them. "Thanks," he offered, his steps hesitant. He waited for Timmy to say something, or to turn, anything, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he retreated into his room and emerged with a quilt, haphazardly throwing it on the couch and sitting before looking back at Armie.  
"You don't need to do that. I can sleep on the couch, you know," Armie said, moving towards him cautiously.  
“What are you really doing here, Armie? It's midnight." Timmy was tired, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally. The past two days had left him restless and confused.

"I don't know," Armie said. "I guess I just... I guess I wanted to see you."

 

Timmy looked up. He didn’t know it but Armie was marvelling at his expression. He could see anger, confusion, distress, hope and a thousand other emotions flash across Timmy’s face.

“See me?” He asked, almost spitting the words out.

“Yes, see you. Can’t I want to see my best friend?” Armie asked, not sure who he was trying to bullshit.

Timmy sneered. “Like you wanted to see me in LA? After we had just spent a week in Europe, glued together?” he asked, looking up at him, eyes bloodshot from the loss of sleep as his curls fell onto his face.

 

"Armie, if there's something you want to say, just fucking say it, okay? Either say it or break my heart so I can go to sleep." Timmy didn't expect himself to be so bold, but the uncertainty, the exhaustion, and the frustration had finally gotten to him. For once, Armie didn't have some snide remark or comeback. For once, Armie didn't have anything to say.

 

"Break your heart?" he finally managed. "Timmy—"

"I'm not stupid, okay. I know what this is, I know you don't really want me. I'd just appreciate it if you'd say it so I could move on." Timmy looked down at his hands, self-conscious in the moment. He didn't want Armie to see the disappointment already growing in his chest, the anxiety he was trying to block himself from feeling. He knew, he _knew_ , logically that this wasn't something that would ever last. They were friends, and he'd grown to accept that long ago. Still, it didn’t stop him from noticing the way Armie's forehead wrinkled when someone mentioned the importance of the film, or how he'd light up when someone mentioned his children, or the small smile he'd hide when Timmy laughed so hard it came out breathless and airy. He still saw the dropped gaze when they spoke, saw the quickened breath, he knew it all. He'd grown too familiar with the older man's ability to hide and retreat, to not know that even if they were just friends, they'd never _truly_ been just friends, not even the day they met when he'd caught him staring.

 

"Timmy, it's not that I don't want you. You have to know that. I want you _too much_. I want you when it's cold in LA and I think of New York. I want you every time I pass a coffee shop and think of all those espressos we drank in Crema while watching the sunrise. I want you every fucking night when I can't fall asleep and I write you text messages and erase them, over and over and over."

Timmy was listening now, brightly, attentively. Armie sat down on the couch, beside Timmy but not touching him. He wanted Timmy to focus on this rare outpouring of vulnerability. "That's what I came here to tell you, Timmy. I want you, and I want this, maybe just for tonight, maybe to last me forever, but so that I'll know I had it _once_ and didn't just imagine that what we have is even possible in this life."

Exhausted, spent, Armie sagged forward onto Timmy's chest, burying his head in Timmy's scent, that bright clean smell of his that Armie always tried to remember for as long as he could after he saw Timmy, but that was always gone too soon.

Timmy looked down at Armie, who had collapsed into his lap, so open and honest in this moment. Timmy he sighed, and then, as he'd been waiting to do since they left Crema, he tangled his hands in Armie's hair and raised Armie's face to his.

 

The water droplets trailed down his fingers, an extension of Armie's vulnerability. Timmy watched them trail down his hands, his wrists, scattering down his pants legs and his arms and leaving damp chills in their wake. He looked back at Armie and let his hands slip from his hair, allowing them to trail along the droplets’ paths on his skin, his fingertips trailing down Armie's cheeks, his throat, resting on his shirt. "One night won't be enough for me," Timmy whispered. His hands shook and he knew it wasn’t from the cold.

The silence etched itself into the moment, into the way Timmy couldn’t stop his hands from returning to Armie's hair at the nape of his neck, into the way Armie stared at him and shuddered, into the way Timmy's breath hitched and his eyes dropped to the base of Armie’s neck, into the way Armie feared Timmy was right, that one night wouldn’t be enough, that this would become something neither would recover from if they give in. "I want your forever," Timmy murmured, wondering how bad it would be if he leaned in and kissed him, if he would wake up tomorrow feeling empty when the realization hit that it wasn't his ring on Armie's finger, but hers. That it wasn't his claim that remained in the light of day. "But it isn’t mine to take."

 

Timmy slowly realized that it wasn’t only the rainwater dripping down Armie's face and neck, but tears too. Even in all the vulnerability they had shared, on set and in their private and intimate moments in Crema, Timmy had never seen Armie cry. Never even really believed he was capable of it. And it broke his heart. Timmy wiped a new tear away from Armie's nose, a subtle way of letting him know he had realized what was happening without saying it out loud. Armie balled the back of Timmy's sweatshirt in his fists and shoved his face into Timmy's chest, still laying on his lap. "I don't want to hurt you," he said into Timmy's shirt, his voice finally breaking. "What happens to me doesn't matter. But you..."

 

The worst possible sound was the crack in the voice whose words were too meaningful for even the body uttering them to stand. And that precise sound came from Armie. They stayed still for a moment. Timmy couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face. “I love you so much… so fucking much,” Armie whispered against Timmy’s sweatshirt, finally _finally_ saying it out loud. The curly boy’s body started trembling, he was feeling so many things.

"It hurt, you know," Armie broke the dense atmosphere, "walking away from you... and I don’t just mean leaving New York... walking away from us, knowing we could have it all and you watching me go....I’m so sorry" his voice cracked again.  
"I’m sorry, too."

 

 _I'm sorry too_. The words hung over them, inadequate in their brevity, in their simplicity. There were no words to express the knots in his stomach or the dizzying pounding in his chest at the feel of Armie against him. He tried, grasping at straws, seeking words to alleviate the feeling within him he couldn't quite understand. "I'm sorry, too," he repeated.

He remembered a lesson from high school, a drama class that still stuck with him after all these years. He'd been weary and closed off and the teacher wasn’t having it. It was a hard year; he'd never felt more alone than he did walking those halls that weren't yet his, surrounded by passionate people who knew exactly what they wanted out of life. His teacher told him he needed to give more, that he was holding back when he should be letting go and _feeling_. He remembered nights when he'd read monologues over and over again until he couldn't see straight, wondering why he bothered. He remembered the kids who always got the parts, the ones who made him feel he never would. He remembered the day he cracked and his teacher told him it was good, _so good_ to see the emotion spilling out of him. He used it, over and over again, keeping everything right there at the surface from that moment on. He'd never struggled to emote after that, always ready to show his cards at the drop of a hat.

Armie usually enhanced this side of him, his own cautious attitude dark against Timmy's bright openness. It made him powerful, stronger, to be emotional and know that it made Armie want to be as well. So in this moment, at a loss for words, at a loss of emotion that he could understand, he broke, shattered like glass against Armie. He held himself up by sheer willpower, refusing to sag completely against Armie when he knew he needed him, too. They had a pattern—Timmy would be their emotional strength and Armie their physical. It worked. When they filmed, Timmy would help Armie with the emotional aspects of their characters while Armie led the way physically. In their friendship, Timmy forced vulnerability with his openness and Armie created careful boundaries they could toe but not cross. It worked. _They_ worked. The break down of these barriers where Armie leaned against Timmy for physical stability left Timmy breathless and distraught, his own emotional breakdown feeling selfish in his mind. He needed words, but they wouldn't come. "I'm sorry," he whispered again; it was the only thing he could think of, a choked sob threatening to accompany them as Armie cried against his chest.

 

But what could be worse than this? Over a year of wanting something more than he thought a human could ever want. Of feeling it deep inside his chest when he took a deep breath or behind his eyes when he saw people walking together happily on the street. Whatever backlash might come, it could not be worse than the pain Timmy felt in all these months of longing. And even more so, was there a greater pain in the known world than finally knowing that Armie, after all this time, had felt exactly the same way? Having Armie right in front of him, and not doing anything about it?

And in a single, crystallizing moment, it became clear. For once in his life, Timmy was truly certain about something. He had no hesitations, no little voice in the back of his head spewing every worse case scenario, no second-guessing his every move. He reached his hands behind his back, taking Armie's fists and gently separated them from his shirt. He lifted Armie's face with his hands as gently as he could.

"This is for every time your father told you you weren't good enough just by looking at you.” He kissed Armie's right cheek.

"This is for every time your mother made you feel small and unimportant". He kissed Armie's left cheek. Timmy was crying, tears streaming down his own face in time with Armie's.

"This is for every time you've felt stupid or ridiculous or foolish for pursuing something you love and throwing your whole heart into it." He kissed Armie's forehead.

"This is for every time you pretended not to care because you were so fractured and broken inside that it was all you could do to not crumble." He kissed just below Armie's right ear.  

"And this," Timmy said, pulling Armie's face closer "is for every person who has ever hurt you because they didn't understand that you hold up the fucking world." Timmy finally allowed their lips to meet for the first time in a year and a half, both of them crying, snotty messes. It was worth every second they has spent waiting for it, bringing them back to the Crema sun where it all began. Armie was shaking, and it was more than just the sobs that had been wracking his body. Timmy remembered that Armie was still soaking wet.

 

"Shhhh," Timmy whispered. "You're soaked." He dropped a single kiss on the top of Armie's head and ducked into his bedroom, returning with a T-shirt that had always been a little too big for him, and a pair of Armie's sweatpants that had gotten mixed in with Timmy's laundry one night last fall. Timmy would never tell Armie how long he'd waited to wash them, how long he'd worn them at night, just because they smelled like Armie, like home, and Timmy couldn't bear thinking that home was thousands of miles away.

Armie was still hunched over and shaking when Timmy approached the couch. Timmy let Armie put the dry sweatpants on on his own, but he didn’t have the willpower to stay away from Armie’s touch any longer. He sat down and circled Armie's waist with his hands, sliding them up slowly until Armie's wet T-shirt slipped over his head and onto the floor beside them. Timmy slid the dry shirt over Armie's head and then trailed kisses down Armie's torso, lingering kisses that warmed the skin, and then dragged the T-shirt down following his lips’ path. When he reached Armie's stomach and the trail of hair he knew so well there, he swirled some of the hair into his mouth and heard Armie moan softly above him. Timmy pulled back a little and raised his green eyes to meet Armie's.

"Does this make you happy?" he asked, and at the question Armie's gaze grew unbearably tender. When Armie finally spoke his voice was raspy at first, as if it had been lying unused in a chamber for thousands of years.

"You have no idea, Timothée," Armie whispered haltingly, reaching down to run his hands through Timmy's hair. Timmy felt Armie's hands fuss with something at the back of his head and realized that Armie had found a hair tie somewhere and tied Timmy's hair at the base of his neck into a tiny, neat bun. "I just," Armie's voice grew hoarser, " I want to be able to see you. But don't stop."

 

Timmy felt a cold breeze caress the back of his neck. He remembered the little details from their forays in Crema, the ones that caught on his heart. The change in Armie’s breathing when Timmy went slow or the groans when he went deep. It had been so long. Timmy hadn’t dared to tell himself it could happen again after they left set and their magical, northern Italian summer. Timmy was so eager, had so much pent up hope and longing and _needing_ that he couldn’t wait for Armie to take off the sweatpants. Timmy put his hands on Armie’s waistband. “Let me. Please,” Timmy begged, focused on the growing bulge.

“But I just put them on,” Armie said grinning at his own dumb joke.

“Oh okay then, I’ll do this instead,” said the younger one, gripping Armie’s cock through the fabric. Timmy watched as Armie’s hungry eyes examined his curious fingers.

“Oh, fuck it!” Armie said, taking the sweatpants off so quickly Timmy laughed. As soon as he saw how hard Armie was, Timmy grabbed his cock. “Fuck” Armie exhaled, losing himself at the view of Timmy’s cold hands around his cock. Armie thought he would never have this again, so he tried to capture every detail in a mental polaroid. Timmy swallowed saliva, knew what was coming, his hand went up and down at a torturously slow pace. Armie threw his head back and forth, his thighs tensed, Timmy leaned in and kissed the tip.

“You’ll kill me if you stop” Armie moaned as soon as Timmy’s red and wet lips touched him.  
“I hope you’re ready for what comes next” Timmy mumbled before he…

 

... swallowed Armie's cock down. Armie let out a loud moan. Timmy's mouth was hot and wet around his dick and he couldn't believe it was really happening again.  
Suddenly, a strange vibration started in Armie’s pants and he frowned, unwilling to figure out what it was. And then Timmy pulled away. The air of the apartment suddenly felt very cold. Armie made a displeased noise at the back of his throat.

"Your phone," Timmy mumbled and pulled it out of his pants. _Elizabeth_ flashed on the screen with her caller ID picture. Timmy closed his eyes, feeling reality wash over them, and handed Armie the phone before pulling away completely.

Armie _knew_ he had to answer the phone. What if it was something with the kids? "Listen, Timmy. Just... give me a second. Please." He pleaded and pulled his pants back up. "Yes, babe?" He answered the phone and stood up to seek privacy.

Timmy closed his eyes, wishing he was far away. All that he had asked for was one night. Even if destroyed him completely. His hands balled into fists and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly to stop the tears.

"Yes, Hops, Timmy misses you, too." He heard Armie's voice from the kitchen. _Fuck this!_

 

His body was buzzing with energy denied, the sound of Armie's voice carrying him, pushing him, away from his apartment. He felt distant as Armie laughed, felt his limbs hollowed out. The air around him was suffocating with the sound of Armie's responsibilities and he couldn't handle it, suddenly glancing out the window and thinking he'd like nothing more than to be washed away with the rain. He stood from his knees and grabbed his keys, forgetting a jacket, and let his footsteps carry him away from the sound of _I love you_ and _kiss the kids for me_. He walked and walked until he hit pavement, cold washing over him so fast he felt tears sting his eyes. He stood, arms wide, rain pelting him until he _felt_ something other than ache deep in his bones. He walked, the rain having taken him as its own, and thought about the regret he was sure Armie felt, how he was probably looking at his ring, how he was probably wishing he never said anything. It was a mistake, Timmy thought. He could never bring himself to take back the words he'd said, but he feared Armie would if given the chance.

The park nearby was a place of refuge now, Timmy collapsing against a tree and allowing the pain to wash over him, his eyes focusing on little lights in the distance, his vision blurring from rain and tears, his body nearly convulsing. He wasn't sure when it would be safe to return, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to, not when the walls held the memory of Armie's “I love you”, both to him and to her. He wondered which was the lie, and feared neither were.

 

Suddenly Timmy felt the buzz of his own phone in the pocket of his skinny jeans. He hated himself for his instant hope that it was Armie, wished he could throw the phone so far away that it wouldn't hurt to think it was Armie, and in that same second knew he could never get far away from that hope. Timmy hunched over the phone, under the tree in the park in the rain, and saw on the lit screen a hurried, uncapitalized message. _whered you go_

"Needed space," Timmy texted back. A moment later, a photo popped onto his screen. It was Armie, laying on Timmy's couch in Timmy's T-shirt, close up and a little out of focus, but with a look of need and sadness on his face. After a moment, a text from Armie: _but now you're the one who's outside, and cold, and wet, and it's so warm in here._

Timmy knew if he entered that room again he'd be walking right back between Armie and his life, Armie and his wife, a space that he fit into and at the same time could never fill. His love was bigger than both of them, and at the same time too fine and delicate, and Timmy was afraid if he walked into that room again, with it on display, his love would just shatter. The only way they would be able to gather it up again was as dust in an urn, as a memory.

Timmy drew himself up to his feet, shivered, and picked his way across the muddy park back toward his apartment. When he was outside the apartment door he texted Armie, _OK, I'm coming in. But don't touch me right now man, I can't fucking take it._

 

Armie bit his lip. He knew he had hurt him, even though it was the last thing he had ever wanted. There was a tentative knock at the apartment door and he jumped up instantly to open it. Timmy stood there shivering and cold with an expression too vulnerable for Armie to take. Armie reached out, wanting to pull him in, warm him up even though he would get wet again in the process. He didn't bloody care.

But Timmy flinched away. "Don't," He whispered and ducked under his arm into the apartment. "You have to stop this, Armie."

Armie _knew_ he was right. He kept wanting too much out of this life. Why couldn't he be grateful for his wife and his children? For the way his career had taken off? For his friends that got him even though he was fucking weird half the time and weirdly fucked the other half. No, he went to Crema and he fell in love and he couldn't bloody stop wanting it all. And it hurt people. That was all he had ever been good at. Being a disappointment to people who trusted him.

He closed the apartment door slowly and leaned his forehead against it. "I'll go. I'll stop this. I'll go back to LA. You’ll have to put up with me for the rest of award season but I promise the Oscars will be the last time you will have to see me. I will stop annoying you with my constant texts and whining about how much I miss you. I hurt you and I'm sorry for that, Timmy." Armie turned around, facing Timmy now with the offer on the table between them. _This is who I am and this is what I am willing to do for you._

 

Timmy felt his world crumbling yet again with Armie's words. The sincerity in Armie’s eyes was terrifying; they were saying _this time I'll go for real_. They'd had this conversation, the _I'm sorry let's just be friends_ , the _I'll leave you alone_ conversations. They never lasted- they never meant it. The way Armie wouldn't meet his eyes told him this time was real, the slight downward curve of his lips breaking Timmy's heart. He'd asked for this, he knew he had- he'd told him not to touch, he'd run away. He did this. _No_ , he thought, _Armie did this_.

He brought his hands to his face and tried to wipe the moisture away to no avail. He looked at his palms, how they were pale and empty and cold. "I don't want you to go," he whispered, stumbling back so he could rest his body against the wall. He looked across the room, refusing to see if Armie was looking at him.

The words sunk into Armie and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or just sad. "Are you sure?"

 

"I'm sure," Timmy said. "I don't know what we'll do tomorrow and I don't know what you're doing here now but I know that if you walk out that door I'll run after you. I'll follow you to the airport or to a magazine party or California or to Italy. Just to look into your eyes and see that,"—Timmy cocked his head toward Armie—” that look in your eye that says you want to leave but you can't. As long as you don't want to leave, I don't care if you do. Because that look means you'll be back."

Armie was staring at him with tears in his eyes, but they didn’t fall. Two years of memories unspooled behind his eyes, and before Armie got lost completely in what they meant to each other, Timmy broke in, "Now come here and kiss me."

 

Armie took one step closer and then another, carefully. He didn’t want to ruin this. He was so lucky for having him in his life, Timmy was was so willing and so loving, he understood Armie in a way Elizabeth never could and never would. When they were centimeters away from each other, Armie took Timmys face and pressed his lips against Timmy’s wet and very cold ones. “Kissing you, Timmy, is like breathing oxygen for the first time.” And with that, he pushed Timmy’s thin body against the wall, deepening the kiss, letting his tongue brush against Timmy’s.  

“I love you. You make me feel like me... like I’m important,” Timmy said, locking his legs around Armie’s waist. Armie took Timmy’s wet shirt off, running his hands against Timmy’s body, Armie’s huge hands caressing Timmy’s back, hugging him, while they shared a hungry kiss.

“I wish I could do this every night,” Armie whispered. But Timmy didn’t hear him; he was too busy listening to Armie’s phone buzz with a text.

Timmy threw his head back against the wall, breathing in and out in sharp bursts. “Answer your goddamn phone,” he said, giving Armie an icy glare and walking straight to his room.

“Wait...fuck!” Armie slammed his fist against the wall. “Timmy… I...” Armie entered the room feeling like the rain pouring outside was pouring inside his heart. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Look, I get it, you’re busy.  You can’t make me feel important, not really, because I will always come second or third or fourth and I don’t care. If you called my name I would be there within seconds but it’s tiring, it’s tiring crying myself to sleep because you’re sleeping next to her, it’s tiring texting you knowing you won’t open it until ‘it’s safe’, I’m so tired of feeling like this. You’re constantly tearing me apart and it doesn’t matter if you are here or not. So it’s okay... I don’t need my heart, you can break it all you want”

 

Armie's face drew up into a frown. What was Timmy thinking? "Oh and it's easy for me? To look at her and only think about you? To sleep with her but wish it could be you? To explain to my kids why I have to fly across the country again? Do you think this is _easy_ for me?" he spat, eyes alight with anger. "Because let me tell you, it isn't! Who is the one who can simply move on from this? Whose career has just taken off and who has girls and boys dripping over themselves to be close to you? Let me tell you, IT’S NOT ME!" Armie huffed, hand going into his hair. He knew he had been too loud, too harsh, but he couldn't help it sometimes. He looked at Timmy, whose eyes were filled with tears but also alive with fury. "You bastard. Nobody asked you to fuck your wife, nobody fucking asked you to come here, to talk to me or kiss me. That was all _you_!" he accused, pushing against Armie's chest as hard as he could. "I fucking hate you, you self-righteous dick!"

Armie did not think. It just _happened_ and before either of them could flinch, Armie’s palm had hit Timmy's cheek leaving a red imprint. Timmy shouted, surprised and hurt.  
"Oh shit, Timmy, I- I didn't want this. Please." He reached out but Timmy flinched away, fear in his eyes.

 

"Don’t," Timmy muttered, his eyes dropping. He couldn't breathe, he took a few steps back, his chest constricting in time with his lungs, his hands going to fists at his sides before he extended his fingers cautiously, testing his ability to move, considering if he'd have to fight back, telling himself he was being stupid, of _course_ he wouldn't have to fight back, this was _Armie_ , he didn't...he wouldn't...

But he already had, and the sting fed the anxiety in Timmy's chest at all of this. He clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, Armie watching in horror as he attempted to process what just happened. "Timmy-"

"I said _don't_ ," Timmy spat. He forced air into his lungs though it felt foreign and wrong, the very act of breathing suddenly something he was unsure of. Armie felt every inch between them, knowing this was something he could never take back. He watched as Timmy turned, eyes still cast down, fists at his sides, now facing the wall. He watched as his shoulders shook slightly, listened for the sound of Timmy's cry he knew must be happening, but it didn’t come. Armie looked at his hands, shaking- they weren’t his own; he didn’t recognize himself as he heard a sob echo in the darkened room, the sound harsh against the backdrop of rain delicately tapping the windows.

"I'm sorry," he said, broken, lost, afraid. Timmy shook his head from where he was, refusing to turn. "Please look at me, let me- Timmy-"

"You asshole," Timmy cried, his arms wrapping around himself. "You _asshole_." He turned just enough to show the side of his face, just enough for Armie to see the red. It brought him to his knees, his body falling forward, his head in his hands.

"I can't believe you did that. I can't believe-" Timmy tried to control his voice but struggled, his resolve shaken when he turned completely and saw Armie on the ground, sobbing. _No_ , he told himself. _I will_ not _feel sorry for him_. He focused on the pain, on the sound Armie's hand made when it connected with his skin. He focused on the phone call, on the goodbyes, on the _cant talk right now_ texts, on the days when Armie would go radio silent because it was a "family" day.  
"I don't mean anything to you, do I? I'm just some guy you fucked and realized your perfect little life isn't so perfect after all, aren't I? I don't mean anything. Don't- don't even answer me." He wiped tears from his cheeks and stared out the window, refusing to see the broken look in Armie's eyes when his hands fell from his face. "I hate you so much right now. Just leave, you always do anyway."

 

"I always do and I never do," Armie rasped, so quietly at first that Timmy coudn’t even hear him. "I'm never gone, I'm always thinking of you. I forget Liz's birthday, I meet my agent at the wrong restaurants, I mix up Ford and Harper's names sometimes because my head's back in Crema. My head is here." Armie climbed to his feet, moved slowly toward Timmy, and touched their foreheads lightly together. Timmy jumped a little at the touch and it broke Armie's heart all over again that Timmy's was now scared of him, no longer knew with a granite certainty that Armie's touch would always bring happiness. Armie wondered if even this small gesture was too far, leaning his head against Timmy's, Timmy still backed up against the wall and holding himself. Would this be their last touch, would this square inch of Armie's forehead burn forever as Timmy's ghost spot—

And then, softly, soft as a bedsheet in Crema or a hand trailing through Armie's hair, Timmy _moaned_.

It was still there, then. His touch still did to Timmy what Timmy's touch did to him. That connection couldn’t be denied, it could only be repressed or encouraged or abused. _Abused_. That's what Armie had done. He knew it when he saw that Timmy's cheek still burned red, felt that no one else's touch could make Timmy's skin bloom that brightly, that he had taken the electricity between them and run it underground and when it resuraced it was darker, furtive, malignant. And Timmy knew it too, and that's why he leaned away from Armie, breaking their touch, meeting his eyes clearly, and said simply, "You hurt me."

When Armie made no noise of acknowledgement, trying to just _be_ so Timmy could process this, Timmy said it again. "You hurt me," and this time he pushed Armie on the shoulder with one hand.

It wasn’t a hard gesture, not meant to hurt, more of a _what the fuck_ than anything with ill intent. But Armie took it, absorbed it, and magnified it to the scale he felt he deserved. Armie tumbled back, first onto his knees, and then rocked back on his heels and caught Timmy's eye.

"Please," Armie's voice was clearer than it had been all night. He knew what he needed then, knew what he wanted.  
"Timmy, please, hurt me all you want."

Timmy's response was nothing Armie had ever seen before. Timmy was normally all sweetness, light, giving, curious. Now his eyes were dark and he was staring at Armie like there was nothing left in the world he wanted to know about him. Timmy pushed Armie again, harder this time, to knock him onto his back on the floor. "Take them off," Timmy commanded, steel in his voice that Armie had never heard before. Timmy flicked his eyes towards Armie's sweatpants. Armie had no choice but to do what Timmy said. If he weren’t so wrecked he would have thought it was hot, a voice in the back of Armie's mind observed. This new Timmy, dominant, precise, unwavering.

When Armie had the sweatpants off Timmy unzipped his own jeans and tossed them aside. He was hard already, Armie noticed with surprise, and the fact made him hard as well. Timmy knelt before Armie, lined up their cocks, and started stroking with those hands, those beautiful hands that could wrap around both their cocks with his long fingers, and just as Armie began remembering how goddamn beautiful this kid was, Timmy pulled away, spit into his palm, and stroked himself a couple more times before slowly, but not too slowly, entering Armie's tender hole.

This wasn’t the first time Armie had bottomed for Timmy, but it had been a long time. Despite everything, the pain and the hitting and his family, the back of Armie's brain woke up to tell him how much he fucking needed this. Timmy drove into him a couple of times, closed his eyes, threw back his head and for a second Armie saw that Timmy that he first loved, that he first knew, and how fucking far that kid had come, look at him now, so beautiful and talented and strong in ways no one imagines, _you could have had this instead_ , could have had this kid in your arms every morning to make you coffee, maybe there's some way still—it's not too late—

Timmy thrust once more into Armie, moaned quickly, and shuddered, and Armie knew he was finished. Knew there would be no cuddling, no lazy blow jobs when they were both half hard, no Timmy making him coffee in the morning. Timmy pulled back and tossed Armie’s sweatpants onto his stomach and his still-hard cock. “I needed that, but I didn’t want it,” Timmy said coldly. “Now you can fucking go.”

 

Armie watched him go to the living room, watched him pull dry pants from a laundry basket on the couch. Armie struggled to breathe, the desperation to get himself off warring with his fear that if he didn't go after Timmy right now, in this very moment, he'd be gone forever. He pulled his sweatpants back on and winced, his body sensitive and still holding onto the hope that his heart and mind would allow him the release he wanted. He sat up and took a few steadying breaths before standing and following Timmy who was staring at the window. “Timmy—”

“Don’t,” he said as he turned and walked back towards his room. Armie followed a beat behind, inches from the bedroom door when it slammed shut in his face and his eyes slipped closed. He thought of why he came here in the first place, of how empty he felt when he packed his bags to leave New York. He thought of how he almost didn’t show up, how many times he turned around, how many times he convinced himself this was stupid, that he was making things worse. He thought of Timmy's face when he opened that window and pulled him closer, of how he held him before it all went to shit. He thought of the lingering fingers, of the sigh. He knew him. He knew his heart, he knew he was hurting, and he knew that Timmy needed him, even if he'd never admit it, he _needed_ him.

They needed each other.

Armie’s heart ached terribly in his chest when he heard Timmy pace his room. His hand lifted to the door and tried to turn the handle. He winced when it didn’t give and pressed his palm against the door instead, wished it would unlock by sheer willpower. "I'm sorry," he said as he looked down at the floor where light was hidden by the shadow of Timmy's feet. "You deserve more than that, you deserve the goddamn world and I'm so, so, so sorry, Timmy."

He felt Timmy lean against the door behind his hand. Armie splayed his fingers out to encompass as much of him through the door as possible. He rested his head against the cool wood and his eyes slipped shut as he imagined Timmy doing the same.

"I can't keep doing this," Timmy said, his voice close and quiet, his own cheek pressed inches from where Armie was, his shoulder against the door, eyes on the street lights blurring his vision.

"I want more than a quick fuck, Armie. I want more than this and...if you can't... if you can't give me that then I just... if this is goodbye, then I need you to leave, okay? Because I love you, and if we keep doing this... I won't recover, Armie. I just won't. Because it'll be you, every goddamn day, it'll be you who I think about when I fall asleep, regardless of who's there with me. It's going to be you."

 

"Please let me in," Armie pleaded, so quietly that Timmy could barely hear him through the door. "I need time to think." Timmy responded. "Seeing you clouds my thoughts and my judgement. And I really need to figure this out. I'm not going to kick you out on the street for the night, but please, leave me alone." Armie whimpered every so slightly and slowly fell to the floor.

"Okay" he whispered back.

"Go sleep on the couch," came Timmy's reply, harsh but quiet.

Timmy spent the next few hours angrily tossing and turning in bed. Every time he fell asleep, he was jolted awake by terrible nightmares. Nightmares where Armie was no longer a part of his life. Nightmares where Armie saw him at events and didn't acknowledge his existence. The final one was especially vivid.

_Timmy was sitting in a coffee shop, finally reading Cat's Cradle after all these months of Armie's insistence on the recommendation. The cafe was on a corner, two of the four walls entirely windows. Timmy looked up from his worn paperback to look out to the street and saw Armie's figure approaching from distance. Suddenly, the world began to turn only in slow motion. Timmy was stuck in what felt like normal time while everything around him moved at a glacial pace. Armie's face lit up when he found Timmy through the window, but there was something he didn't see. A truck was was coming down the street, but Armie was too distracted by the joy he felt in seeing Timmy to notice. Timmy ran to the window. Banging his fists as hard as he could against the glass, he yelled for Armie. He screamed so violently that he could feel his vocal cords grating, even though it as just a dream. His feet were lead; he couldn't move to open the door or go to Armie. And in slow motion, as Timmy screamed at the top of his lungs in a hopeless and last ditch effort, the truck barreled into Armie and he disappeared._

When Timmy startled awake, there were tears running down his face. He was mad. He was hurt. He was frustrated and confused and overwhelmed, but more than anything, he was now dead set on the fact that he wouldn't allow a single bad thing to happen to Armie. He strode to the door, ready to run to the couch to embrace him. But when he opened it, there was Armie, asleep on the floor, just outside the threshold. He was so broken and hurt and desperately in love that hadn't even been able to make it to the couch. Armie slept and shivered on the hardwood floor.

Timmy went back to this bed, grabbed every pillow and blanket he could carry, and lay down next to Armie on the floor, enveloping them both with the warm, soft covers, and scooting in so that his each and every joint was in contact with the bold, brash, and remarkable man next to him.

 

Armie woke up and he had no idea what time it was. But it was warm. There was something, no someone, touching him. He looked down at the hand fisted in his shirt. _Timmy_. Armie felt hot tears of relief rush into his eyes instantly. He was there. He was with him.

He turned around in the embrace as quick as possible without waking Timmy. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you." He whispered desperately, quietly peppering kisses all over his face.

He was such a fuck up. He had hurt what he loved. He should've stayed away. Timmy would have had a chance to come out of this unscathed. He remembered very well to being hit by someone he trusted and he swore then to never ever do it to his kids one day. That was why he was glad sometimes that he wasn't home so much. He loved them to bits, which was the same reason he was so scared to hurt them. When Harper had cried the first time after he had told her no, he had to leave the room. And now... he had hurt him.

Timmy was wrong. It could not have been just anyone. Timmy was _the one_ for him, the one which he never expected to meet.

This was all wrong. That Timmy wanted him so much. That Timmy thought Armie deserved him after all of this. He did not. He never had.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Why did you have to fall for me?" He whispered, brushing the curls back and leaning their foreheads together. "I want to be with you, more than anything, but you deserve so much more. So much better."

 

Timmy sighed in his slumber, shifting slightly, body curling closer as his forehead crinkled. Armie leaned back a few inches and touched the line above his brows, Timmy's eyelids fluttering open before clamping shut again with a low groan. He burrowed his head against Armie's chest and muttered, "Don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay," Armie whispered. He held him closer and pressed his lips to the top of his head, lingering until Timmy shifted to look up at him.

"Never again," he said, a hand going up to touch Armie's jaw. "Promise me."

"Never, I would never. Timmy I'm so-"

"Shh," Timmy covered his mouth, silencing the apology he didn’t even know if he wanted. Armie wasn't sure what he wanted from him as Timmy snuggled closer to Armie's chest, his fingers leaving lips in favor of slipping under Armie’s shirt, causing chills to run over both their bodies. Armie felt Timmy sigh and wondered what led to him join him on the ground last night. The last he'd heard from him, he was angry, hurt, broken even. He wanted answers and he hadn't even given Armie the chance to speak, not then, not now it would seem.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, his hand covering Timmy's on his chest, the fabric of his shirt between them. Timmy shook his head, pulled himself closer, tucked a leg between Armie's. "I'm so sorry-"

"No, not that. I just... I had a nightmare," Timmy mumbles. "It's better now."

"About what?"

Timmy hesitates, his fingers toying with the cotton of Armie’s t shirt, his lips seeking skin suddenly, needing _real_. He hated that he was needy in this moment, hated how he wanted nothing more than to forget last night, to ignore it all and pretend things were fine when they absolutely weren't, when he didn't even know if Armie wanted him in a substantial way that involved clothes-on talks and commitment. "You...you were gone," he whispers.

"Like in LA?" Armie ran a hand through Timmy's hair, taking advantage of what he feared to be the calm before the storm. He'd take any amount of time with Timmy, any spare second he'd give.

"No, gone... you know how Elio doesn't want to get a letter one day with bad news? _Gone_ , Armie. I lost you," he said, lips against Armie's chest, a tremble in his voice he can't quite shake.

"Oh, Timmy..." Armie felt the way Timmy pulled him, how he sank against his body like it was necessary support. "You're not- hey, look at me-"

"I don't want to live without you," Timmy cried. "Please, don't make me live without you." Armie pulled him closer, pressed his lips to Timmy’s forehead, his hands gripping tighter, the mere thought of them parting never crossing his mind.

"I'm here, okay? Hey, _I'm here_ , right here with _you_ , I'm always with you, even when I'm not I'm with you, okay? I'm right here," he tells him, wishing he had words to express how deeply he meant it, how there was a part of him that existed only in and with Timmy now, how they would never be without one another. "I love you, I'm not, I'm not leaving you. I want this, Timmy- I want _you_ , I want you. We'll make it work, we'll figure something out- but you have me, god knows why you want me, but you have me."

"You're just gonna leave again, though, and I'm gonna be alone, and-"

"Stop it, Timmy. You're not alone, not anymore, okay? You're right. This isn't just a quick fuck kind of thing, this is more, and I'm sorry for ever making you feel like it wasn't," Armie said, pulling Timmy's face away from his body to look into his eyes. He trailed his fingers over Timmy's skin, his thumb catching on his lip. "I love you," he whispered, the words freeing him in a way he'd been afraid of for months.

"You're serious?" Timmy asked, "You want this, for real?" He touched Armie's wrist, his fingers wrapping around it to hold his hand against his cheek. Armie nodded, knowing how difficult the road before them would be, but knowing it was nothing compared to walking without Timmy by his side.

"Thank god," Timmy sighed, falling forward until his forehead rested against Armie's chest. Armie smiled, slipped his hand into Timmy's hair, let his eyes slip shut as Timmy's lips pressed against him.

"God, I was so terrified you were going to leave, that I'd wake up and you'd be gone," he confessed. "I was so scared it would be over."

"I could never walk away from you," Armie said, his hand tilting Timmy's face to his, pressing their lips together cautiously. He still feared the pain and frustration from last night would linger on Timmy's lips, but there was no malice, never malice, not with him.

"That's always been the problem, I can't seem to actually walk away," Armie said, his lips pressing to Timmy's jaw.

"Please stop trying to," Timmy said, his hand lifting to tangle in Armie's hair.

"Deal," Armie said, bumping his nose against Timmy's. "I really am sorry about last night—for everything."

"I know," Timmy said, pressing a quick kiss against Armie's lips.

"I don't deserve you," Armie whispered as Timmy's lips traveled to his throat.

" _Shh_ " the word against his skin, Timmy's fingers finding his lips as his eyes met Armie's. "Stop it, you're not worthless."

"But you're-"

"No, stop. I love you," Timmy said, kissing him, letting everything go. It was slow and Armie felt like crying with how gently Timmy cradled his head in his hand, the softness he felt he didn't deserve. "I love you," Timmy repeated again, kissing his cheek. "I love you," against his chin. "I love you," against his palm. _I love you_ until he believed it, until he understood that Timmy meant every word he said the night before about wanting him, until he understood that him crawling onto the floor with him was an act of love, not fear, that what they had been through together and what they would go through together would be just that—something they faced _together_. Two beings, lost in love, stumbling in each other's embrace. Together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on tumblr! :)  
> is-this-loss  
> charmie-inspiration  
> anttoxicated  
> dreamofhorses42  
> lookingforatardis


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